Snowy Emptiness

Winter is a time of deep contemplation. It is like emptiness, a pause between the industrious autumn and the vibrant spring, a time to endure and simply exist. In a world covered in white snow, shadows become sharper, and time seems to flow more slowly, encouraging us to pause and look within ourselves. Surely, all of us have felt this specific calm, this silence during the slow winter days filled with whiteness and stillness. Surely, too, we have often longed for this feeling, unable to rediscover it within ourselves. Sometimes it is so difficult to evoke in a life filled with the urgency of trivial daily matters and the overly emotional vibrancy of chaotic urban existence. Not to mention, in recent years, even snow itself has become harder to find.

There are ways to summon this specific feeling of winter calm, which allows us to listen to ourselves. One of these methods might be a return to particular ukiyo-e prints featuring winter landscapes or a remembrance (and a sort of savoring) of haiku written by people who were masters at evoking such subtle emotions with concise and precise language. Since December is upon us, bringing with it a tentative hope that perhaps, even briefly, we might experience a white winter, let us remember how to seek winter peace in old Japanese haiku. Will the wintry aura of Matsuo Bashō’s haiku grace us this year, or will we need to search for it deeper, within ourselves?

冬の寂しさや世界一色の風の音
(fuyu no sabishisa ya / sekai isshoku no / kaze no oto)

“Winter solitude –
the world in one color,
the sound of the wind.”

The Austere Landscape of Solitude

In his haiku on winter solitude, Matsuo Bashō invites us into a world reduced to its fundamental elements—the whiteness of snow and the sound of the wind. This is an almost ascetic image, yet one rich with meaning. “The world in one color” carries with it a silence that seems to be both physical and spiritual. The white scenery, devoid of vibrant colors, dulls the senses, forcing us to focus on what happens within. It is a zen-like world where less is more, and emptiness becomes a space filled with meaning.

The sound of the wind—the only movement in this motionless world—evokes a sense of transience. The wind, like time, is an invisible, intangible force, yet ever-present. It is also a carrier of emotions—it can be soothing or melancholic, depending on how it resonates with the listener. For some, it will be a reminder of winter’s austerity; for others, a breath of space that liberates from everyday worries. Bashō, with his masterful minimalism, imposes no single interpretation. His haiku is a mirror—in the tranquil emptiness he offers, we see mainly what we bring into it ourselves.

Zen philosophy, so strongly present in Bashō’s work, emphasizes recognizing beauty in simplicity and the present moment. The image of winter, silent, simple, ascetic, and austere, fills the entire horizon, becoming a world—a metaphor for life—ephemeral, fragile, yet full of meaning in its transience. The monochromatic world of winter does not signify lack but essence—a reduction of everything to its core. It is an invitation to pause and look at life in its most fundamental form, free of excess and chaos.

The haiku “Winter Solitude” is not only a depiction of nature but also a state of mind. Its simplicity holds profound truth—solitude does not have to mean sadness but can be an opportunity for introspection and peace. It is silence that does not overwhelm but offers space to find oneself in harmony with the surrounding world. In such a winter landscape—harsh but beautiful—we can find what is missing in the bustle of everyday life: a moment of authentic, pure existence.

Japan is a country of contrasts, where winter takes on diverse forms depending on the region. In the north, on Hokkaido, winter is harsh and powerful. Snowstorms sweep through forests, mountains, and endless fields, leaving behind a landscape steeped in deep white. Here, winter becomes a celebration of nature, epitomized by the “Sapporo Snow Festival,” where monumental ice sculptures captivate and awe.

In the south, on Kyushu, winter is gentle, almost imperceptible—in Okinawa, it is practically nonexistent. The subtle chill, which occasionally hints at the passage of the seasons, brings a completely different mood. In this faint breath of winter, one can find a silence akin to that in haiku—not through the force of snow but through the fleeting nature of winter light, which feels like a momentary pause before spring’s bloom.

Central Japan, with the Japanese Alps and the majestic Fuji, is a region where winter combines elements of both worlds. Snow-covered peaks, renowned for excellent skiing conditions, and mountain villages where time seems to slow down, remind us of the harmony between humanity and nature.

And then there is Yukiguni—the snow country—absolutely unique, which deserves a separate mention here: Yukiguni …………………………………………………..

Snow in Japan is not merely a weather phenomenon—it is part of cultural heritage, an element of art, and a space for simple, joyful traditions. Winter festivals, such as the one in Sapporo, celebrate the harmony and beauty of the season, where snow becomes the material for ephemeral works of art. Snow sculptures, which vanish with the arrival of spring, serve as reminders of the philosophy of transience—one of the deepest threads in Japanese aesthetics.

The tradition of yuki usagi (雪うさぎ), or creating snow rabbits, exemplifies the simplicity and childlike joy that can be drawn from one’s surroundings, provided one allows for an open mind. These small, fleeting figures, formed from handfuls of snow and a few twigs, remind us of the art of finding beauty in the smallest things. Yuki usagi is not only a playful activity but also a lighthearted meditation (nobody said meditation must always be serious) on the moment—its transience, yet also the perfection it can bring in its “ordinariness.”

The Japanese Aesthetic of Winter – Poetry

Nara Period

Winter in Japanese literature appears essentially as soon as literature itself emerges. Poems about it can be found as early as the 8th century in the anthology Manyoshu (万葉集, “Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves”), where it was seen as a time of austerity, introspection, and the inevitability of change. Nature, with its unyielding force, was both a challenge and a teacher. Here is an example from Manyoshu, where winter and snow evoke a sense of solitude and the power of nature:

吾が屋戸の大雪しづけし石走る滝もとどろに凍りてぞ居る
(Waga yado no / ōyuki shizukeshi / ishibashiru / taki mo todoro ni / kōrite zo oru)

“At my dwelling,
the heavy snow silences the world.
The water that roared over the rocks,
the waterfall that thundered yesterday,
today lies still, frozen by time.”

– Manyoshu (MYS IV: 571)

This poem paints a winter landscape where nature is plunged into silence and stillness. The snow, described as “great” and silencing all, symbolizes the purification of the world brought by the season of winter. This silence is profound and all-encompassing, filling the space that once teemed with the motion and sound of the waterfall. The water, which once rushed over the rocks with strength and energy, now freezes in winter’s embrace, reminding us of the transience of movement and life. The stark winter becomes a time for introspection, a moment to pause and look inward.

The poem seems to invite reflection on the philosophy of life as a cycle—everything that is full of energy and life will eventually reach a state of rest. This winter stillness is not the end but a moment of preparation for a new beginning, much like the snow will melt, and the waterfall will roar again. It is a subtle reminder of the beauty inherent in the moment—snow, frozen water, silence—all exist only briefly, yet they carry an enduring harmony and peace that can be found within oneself.

Heian Period

In the Heian period (794–1185), winter took on an even more aesthetic dimension, harmonizing with the refined court culture. In the poetry of Kokin Wakashu, snow often symbolized purity and ephemeral beauty. Here is an example of a courtly poem from this period:

白雪のかかれる枝に梅の花おほはむと見てうぐひすのなく
(shirayuki no / kakareru eda ni / ume no hana / oowan to mite / uguisu no naku)

“On branches clad in snow,
like blooming plum blossoms,
in winter’s silence,
a warbler fills the forest with its song—
its echo stirs hope.”

This poem from Kokin Wakashu perfectly reflects the subtleties of Heian-period aesthetics, where nature was seen as a mirror of human emotions. The snow resting on the branches like plum blossoms reflects the transience of beauty—the delicacy of moments that disappear as quickly as they appear. It is a picture of winter filled with harmony, where silence and white snow become a space for contemplation.

The warbler’s song, piercing the winter silence, heralds the coming spring and renewal. Its sound fills the space not only physically but also emotionally, awakening hope in the heart for transformation. In the courtly culture of Heian, so strongly linked to the idea of mono no aware—a melancholic awareness of impermanence—this poem reminds us that beauty lies in the fleeting nature of moments.

A snow-filled space and the sound of a bird are not just a landscape but also a metaphor for spiritual tranquility and reflection. The promise of transition from winter stillness to spring activity emphasizes the natural rhythm of life—a cycle of birth, passing, and renewal. This poem harmoniously weaves the beauty of nature with the subtle emotions of the human spirit, revealing the unity of man with the world around him.

Kamakura Period

The Kamakura period (1185–1333) marked the rise of the Minamoto clan, with Japan being effectively ruled by the shogun instead of the emperor. This era introduced the military dominance of the samurai and the profound influence of Zen on culture.

The poem below is by Teikei (藤原定家, Fujiwara no Teika), also known as Fujiwara Sadaie. Teika was one of the most outstanding poets in Japanese history, a representative of court literary culture, and one of the editors of the renowned anthology Shin Kokin Wakashū. His work blends traditional aesthetics with more introspective and subtle themes, as exemplified in the following poem:

老楽は 雪のうちにぞ 思い知る 問ふ人もなし 行くはたもなし
(Oiraku wa / yuki no uchi ni zo / omoishiru / tou hito mo nashi / yuku hata mo nashi)

“To age—
amid the winter snow,
now I understand:
no one comes to visit,
and there is no place to go.”

Teika’s poem evokes rather melancholic feelings at first glance. The snow surrounding the lyrical subject symbolizes purification and stillness, but also isolation. Winter’s silence reflects an emptiness where one confronts their inner self. The words about the absence of visitors and destinations could be read as a lament over the loneliness of old age, but equally as liberation from worldly concerns and the noise of life.

The key element is the poem’s mystery—what does “now I understand” mean? Is it the acceptance of life’s transience, or a bitter reflection on the loss of connections with others? This ambiguity is the strength of poetry, compelling the reader to reflect on their own life. After all, one doesn’t ponder what it meant for Teika. Instead, the question strikes us, and we are left to grapple with the answer.

Winter, as a season, intensifies the sense of austerity and introspection. The lack of motion and noise invites contemplation: is emptiness a void or a space for new meanings? The poem reflects the philosophy of life as a cycle—solitude and stillness are not endings but preparations for a new phase. In this moment of peace, one can find harmony with the world and one’s own heart.

Edo Period

During the Edo period (1603–1868), winter poetry reached its pinnacle in the form of haiku, mastered by poets such as Bashō, Buson, and Issa. The minimalism of this form allowed the essence of winter to be captured in just a few words. For example, Matsuo Bashō’s haiku:

冬の日や馬上に氷る影法師
(fuyu no hi ya / bajō ni kōru / kagebōshi)

“On these winter days,
on horseback—
my shadow freezes.”

Matsuo Bashō’s haiku paints a stark winter scene where cold envelops not only the body but also the spirit. The frozen shadow becomes a metaphor for stillness, a momentary suspension in time and space. The movement of the horse, symbolizing dynamism and life, contrasts with this frozen silhouette—a shadow that usually reflects life, now becomes its icy echo.

This is a poem about a pause in life’s flow, a moment when one faces nature and realizes their fragility. Winter, in its ascetic beauty, reveals how life—full of energy and movement—can momentarily freeze in anticipation. Transience, central to the Japanese aesthetic of mono no aware, here takes the form of silence and ice.

In Bashō’s characteristic simplicity, he not only describes winter but invites us to experience it. In this scene, the frozen shadow does not symbolize death but serves as a reminder that everything seemingly permanent can change.

In the silence and austerity of the winter landscape lies a profound reflection on harmony between humanity and the surrounding world. Bashō, a master of capturing life’s ephemerality, presents winter not just as a season but as a state of mind—cold, introspective, yet filled with latent energy and hope for renewal.

ながながと川一筋や雪の原　凡兆
(Naganaga to / kawa hitosuji ya / yuki no hara)

“A long line of the river
stretches calmly across
endless snowy fields.”
— Nozawa Bonchō

Bonchō’s poem presents an almost symbolic image in its simplicity—the contrast of black against white. The long, black line on a white expanse is a river cutting through vast, snow-covered fields—a view so minimalist that it becomes an almost abstract composition. The snowy void surrounding the river redefines the landscape, transforming it into a space detached from everyday life, filled with purity and tranquility.

The river, usually unnoticed in a complex landscape, here becomes the focal point—its line draws the gaze, inviting contemplation. It serves not only as the visual axis of the scenery but also as a metaphor for life: continuously flowing, unchanging in its essence, yet altered by its surroundings and circumstances. The snow, which transforms ordinary fields into a uniform whiteness, accentuates its transcendent beauty.

Bonchō creates a space for the reader’s reflections, leaving room for personal interpretation. The purity and simplicity of the image do not merely describe reality but open doors to introspection—allowing one to see beauty in what often escapes notice. This haiku does not merely depict a winter scene; it offers a space where we can pause, absorb its simplicity, and listen to ourselves.

Shōwa Period

吹雪いてはまどろみ返すこたつかな
(fubuite wa / madoromi kaesu / kotatsu kana)

“The snowstorm rages—
a nap returns once more
by the kotatsu.”
— Takahama Kyoshi

In this haiku, Takahama Kyoshi paints a picture of winter tranquility, enclosing a person in a small, warm space, offering a moment of calm and respite from nature’s harshness. The contrast between the storm outside and the softness of a nap captures winter’s duality—its unpredictable power and comforting gentleness, which can only be truly appreciated in the warmth of a kotatsu, when the cold outside intensifies the coziness within.

The rhythm of the recurring nap reflects the cyclic nature of winter—a time of rest, returning to oneself, and preparing for the new birth of spring. It is a moment when time flows differently, allowing one to notice the beauty of the present and free oneself from the pressures of the external world. The inclusion of kana, an expression of emotion and wonder, seems to whisper gratitude for this simple harmony between man and nature.

The snowstorm, though potentially fearsome, loses its ferocity within the context of the haiku, becoming a backdrop for contemplation and introspection. Kyoshi shows that winter, in its austerity, also offers a space to pause and accept it without resistance. The poem invites us to find harmony in everyday life, which—though ordinary—can become a source of peace and solace.

Conclusion

In Japanese poetry and art, winter is a space where silence and austerity open doors to introspection. The white void of snow, the stillness of frozen rivers, or the sound of the wind is like an open canvas—each person may perceive something different in it. In this simplicity lies wisdom: what we see depends not only on the external world but also on what we carry in our hearts. Japanese haiku and waka leave space for the reader’s emotions, inviting them to co-create meaning rather than imposing it. Their great strength, often misunderstood, is that a work does not attempt to convey a defined message but rather creates a space—emotional, philosophical, visual—that the reader can use as they see fit.

"Strong Japanese Women"

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    未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

  Mike Soray

   (aka Michał Sobieraj)

未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

Mike Soray

(aka Michał Sobieraj)

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